


Adding Insult to Injury

by Ludovica



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2013-08-21
Packaged: 2017-12-24 04:32:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/935393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ludovica/pseuds/Ludovica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ataresto confronts Carnistir after he insults the sons of Arafinwe in front of the council of the Noldor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adding Insult to Injury

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyBrooke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBrooke/gifts).



> For the Sultry in September fic exchange :) Many thanks to Dagzy for the beta!
> 
> Prompt:  
> Rating up to = NC-17
> 
> Requested pairing = Ingwë/Celeborn or Caranthir/Orodreth (whichever is easier to write).
> 
> Story elements = Sarcastic or smartass comments from someone.
> 
> Do NOT include = I do not like weak-willed Orodreth, Celeborn, or Ingwë. I also prefer no death of either character in the pairing, or their spouses (I'm fine with it occurring before the spouse's birth).
> 
> I hope this fits the bill!

The tents of the host of the sons of Feanáro stood apart from the rest of the encampment, farther to the east. Artaresto wondered if that was another display of their strength and daring – camping closer to the foe than any other. He definitely thought them capable of such petty display. At the moment he thought them capable of quite some pettiness, after that which Carnistir had shown before the council.

His brothers and Nerwen were with Angarato right now, listening to his tirades and abuse of Carnistir. He had put his thumb into a sore wound, and it was only natural that Arafinwe’s children were agitated about his lack of respect or trust towards them; yet Artaresto did not much like talking badly behind another’s back, and even though he disliked confrontations nearly more, this time he would confront the man who had indirectly called them unreliable and had insinuated that they were less part of their people than he and his brothers were.

He had not really talked with him at all since they had reached Beleriand. The ice of the Helcaraxe still burned in his bones, the loss of so many lives in his heart, the blood of his kin beneath the soles of his feet, and he had not yet been able to forgive those who had forced them on this perilous journey. How often had he regretted his decision to turn his back to his father? And just to be belittled by one who had slain other Elves for the sake of ships, who had condemned his own kin to suffer and die in the grinding ice…

A cool breeze blew over the lake when he reached Carnistir’s tent. He had taken pains to ensure that no one had seen him, apart from a rather sleepy guard who had been far enough away that he likely wouldn’t have been able to recognize him, as he had covered his hair and face with a grey, heavy cloak.

He entered Carnistir’s tent without hindrance. No guards stood in front of it, and its owner himself had not yet returned. Artaresto slipped the cloak from his body and threw it over a nearby chair, wondering if he was being admonished by his brothers right now or if he had gone to seek some solitude in the woods around the lake.

He sighed lowly as he sat down on the chair and stretched his legs. He wasn’t quite sure if this was a good idea; but on the other hand, confronting Carnistir was rarely a good idea to begin with. But to tell the truth… He had missed him. As complicated as their relationship was, and as much dislike as he seemed to hold for his family, the thought that he might never see him again had gnawed on Artaresto’s heart, despite all the pain Carnistir and his family had caused the rest of their kin.

He ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes for a second. Carnistir’s presence was imprinted on this place. His smell seemed to cling to the curtains that kept his sleeping area and the rest of the tent separated; to the leather of the tent cover; to the furs on the floor. Spices, wine, leather oil and fire, and the slightly smoky smell of his hair…

Suddenly the curtains at the entrance of the tent were pulled back, and Artaresto jumped to his feet, startled by the sudden disruption of his thoughts. Carnistir stared at him from the entrance, and for a second his face grew pale, before the blood streamed back into his skin and darkened his cheeks and ears.

“You’re the last one I’d have expected here”, he said, with a coolness to his voice that sounded so put on that Artaresto could downright taste the agitation he was trying to hide.

He snorted. “Why, whom would you have expected if not me?”

Carnistir looked at him with distrust in his dark eyes, then he walked towards a low table at the side of the tent. “Your older brother with a scowl on his face and some wise and stern words. One of your younger brothers with a sword in his hand. Your sister, with a sword in her hand.” He put his leather gloves and the vest he had been wearing over his tunic onto the table, then he turned around to him again, one eyebrow raised in derision. “Let me guess, you want me to apologize to your brother? Or to you? Have my words hurt your tender sensitivities?” The last sentence was so full of derision that Artaresto’s lips tightened against his volition.

“I would have you apologize to my mother, if she had been here. Oh, I would have you apologize on your knees to my mother”, he said, bitterness burning on his tongue.

Carnistir rolled his eyes and hung his weapon belt onto a hook on a wooden rack.

“Unfortunately your mother went with your father when he decided to abandon his own king and went back to grovel at the Valar’s feet.”

Artaresto felt his jaw tense up. “Better a leader who follows the wishes of his people than a king who incites his people to leave their home, makes them slay their own kin and then abandons more than half of them.”

“A king who has done what was his right to do”, Carnistir snapped at him. The red color in his cheeks darkened and slowly spread to his neck. “But how should the son of a coward understand the rights and duties of a king?”

“Oh, how indeed?” Artaresto was getting angry. “If by rights and duties you mean the right to take and burn what is not yours, and by duties a king’s obligations towards his personal desire for revenge, then I indeed will never understand a king’s ‘rights and duties’.” He turned around to the door to leave, then looked at Carnistir again, who had slumped down in one of his chairs and was watching him.

He caught the gaze of his dark eyes and held it. “You don’t have any reason to distrust us. We don’t seek revenge, and we don’t seek personal gain by taking advantage of our kin. The children of Arafinwe will never harm the sons of Feanáro.” He turned around again and looked at the entrance of the tent. “Yet I don’t think that the children of Arafinwe would be wise to trust the sons of Feanáro in turn.”

Just when he reached for the curtains covering the entrance, he heard Carnistir’s voice, calmer than before now: “Artaresto.”

Reluctantly he lowered his hand, but he didn’t turn around to him. “Yes?”

Carnistir hesitated for a moment, then he said: “I did not expect that you would come to Middle Earth. Until the last moment I’d been sure that you would go back to Tirion with your father. Even after Losgar, even when we heard of the host of Nolofinwe completing their journey over the ice, I had been sure that you were not with them.” There was something strange in his voice; it sounded raw, thick… Unfamiliar to Artaresto’s ears. Again Carnistir hesitated, and Artaresto waited, until the other man finally said: “You have never done anything that your father would not approve of before.”

At that, Artaresto couldn’t hold back the tiniest smile playing around the corner of his mouth. He turned around and looked at Carnistir, who had stood up again at some point.

“Except for one thing…” He watched as the color intensified in Carnistir’s face again. “And now twice. I know that you think that I am too much like my father, and I know that you dislike my father because your father disliked him as well-“ at that he rolled his eyes “-but I am not my father. I am not my brothers and I am not my mother.” The smile faded. “And withholding me your trust just because of my heritage and despite our… friendship… is not just.”

Carnistir stared at him for a while, then he stepped towards him and grabbed his arm. He loomed over him for a second, then he pulled him in and kissed his lips. Artaresto didn’t resist, but leaned into the kiss and laid his hands on Carnistir’s hips, holding him close.

The kiss was unusually gentle for Carnistir, though it was longing, greedy, and his hands were nearly bruising his arms, as if he was holding on for dear life.

“Carnistir…” Artaresto sighed against his lips as he pushed him off. The look in the eyes of the dark haired Elf was impatient, urging, pleading. Artaresto opened his mouth to say something, but then he just grabbed the back of Carnistir’s head and pulled him close again, crushing his lips against those of his cousin. He pushed his hands under Carnistir’s tunic and grabbed the warm flesh of his hips, leading him back until they stood right before the curtains in front of Carnistir’s sleeping area. Artaresto put his right arm around his cousin’s neck, as if he wanted to keep him from pulling away, and blindly pulled back the curtains while he moaned into the kiss. Carnistir’s hands grappled at his belt, pulling him in and pushing him against his body with one hand against the small of his back.

Finally Artaresto pulled back from the kiss and looked at Carnistir’s face, flushed and hazy-eyed and gasping. He couldn’t suppress a grin – he had always enjoyed how easily he could send Carnistir shaking with just his lips and hands. One of his cousin’s hands found its way into his open hair and tried to pull him in again, but Artaresto just kissed his jaw and pulled away from his grip to pull off Carnistir’s shirt before he gently pushed him back onto the pillows and furs he used as a bed. Carnistir pulled Artaresto with him, tugging at the seam of his tunic nearly hard enough to tear it. Somehow Carnistir managed to take off Artaresto’s belt and throw it aside while he was pushed into the pillows and kissed again passionately.

Artaresto sighed when he pulled away from his lips, leaving them swollen and red. He grinned down at him before he opened the lacings at the neck of his tunic and pulled it over his head. The hungry look in Carnistir’s eyes filled him with a gratification the sort of which he had not felt since before Feanáro and his sons had been exiled from Tirion. He threw his tunic behind him and took Carnistir’s hands to put them onto his hips, sighing when he felt the warmth and calluses of his hands, his strong, possessive grip, just for a second before those hands started to roam over his upper body, his chest at first and then his back when he leaned forward to kiss Carnistir’s neck. The other man threw his head back to give him better access and moaned lowly as his hands pushed Artaresto’s body closer against his own.

With a low sigh against his skin, Artaresto pushed his hands away and pushed his own breeches down just far enough to release his cock, then he did the same with Carnistir’s leggings. He laid down flush against Carnistir’s body, pushing him into the pillows with his weight.

The other man snorted. “Lazy,” he rumbled, then wriggled a little around until their cocks lay next to each other, rubbing together. Artaresto moaned at that, then pushed him down at his shoulders and kissed his lips again before he started to slowly let his hips undulate against those of Carnistir. “Effective…” he murmured against his lips, his voice hoarse and his breathing heavy.

Carnistir started to move with him, while his hands still roamed over Artaresto’s body, scratching his back and then cupping his ass as he pushed his hips harder against his own. Artaresto moaned into the slope of Carnistir’s neck, then he bit down hard, making Carnistir jump in surprise and let go of his buttocks.

With a grin on his lips, Artaresto sat up and straddled Carnistir’s hips. He took the other man’s cock and his own with one hand and pushed them together, before he scooped up the drops of pre-cum on their tips and ran his now wet fingers all over their lengths, until they were nice and slick enough to properly move together. When he pressed them against each other in his hand, he could hear Carnistir curse under his breath, before the larger hand of the son of Feanáro wrapped around his own and started to move with him.

Artaresto tutted lowly and squeezed their cocks harder. “Always trying to get control, aren’t you?”

Carnistir flushed and grabbed his hand harder, then he reached up to his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. “Pretty boys like you should do what they are told, not play around at being men…”

He snorted and gently gnawed on Carnistir’s lower lip, before he pushed his own lips against his. “Apparently it’s been too long since this ‘pretty boy’ has properly fucked you the last time… You’re getting cocky…”

At that, Carnistir grinned slightly. “Cocky, you say?” He licked Artaresto’s lips, then thrust his own hips up, right into their hands.

“Cocky indeed…”, Artaesto gasped, then he started to move his hand again. Carnistir let go after a while and so he could rub them faster and faster while his lips again and again found Carnistir’s and the tips of their lengths rubbed against each other and against their abdomen, getting squeezed slightly between their upper bodies. Artaresto’s breathing went in little gasps now, and his own low, melodic moans and Carnistir’s louder, grunting noises filled the tent together with the smell of their bodies, of sweat and sex and spices. The motions of Artaresto’s hand became frantic, jerking, until he finally pushed down on Carnistir with his whole weight and came into his hand and between their bodies, moaning lowly against his lips while he felt the other body tremble in his orgasm, which was wrenched from Carnistir with a last deep grunt.

They lay flush against each other for a few moments, their seed cooling on their bellies, before Artaresto rolled off of him and ran his hand through his own golden hair. He laid his head on Carnistir’s arm, snuggled into his side and closed his eyes when he felt the other man’s hand run through his tresses.

After a while, he looked up at Carnistir’s face again. “What are you planning to do now?”

Carnistir was looking at the roof of his tend. “Maitimo wants us to go to the Northeast and settle there, between Dorthonion and the Ered Luin. To ‘keep us from bashing the heads of our cousins in’.”

“Hm…” Artaresto snuggled farther into his side and laid his head onto his chest. Carnistir’s hand tightened in his hair.

“And you?”

He shuffled slightly, laying down on his side and putting one of his legs over one of Carnistir. “I’ll likely follow Findaráto, together with Nerwen… My own host is too small to set up a fort of my own, since most actually followed father back to Tirion…”

He felt Carnistir’s nod against his head. They didn’t talk anymore after that, until Artaresto finally stood up and cleaned himself as well as possible with a leather cleaning rag while Carnistir watched his naked form. He put on his clothes again, then leaned down to Carnistir and kissed his lips a last time before he took his cloak and left the tent.


End file.
